My dear friend Samantha died on Thursday. I wasn’t with her. She died alone in the bathroom. I’m so sad about it.

Frank buried her on Saturday, first opportunity for such. I was napping, not feeling well. I saw the hole after I awoke, but then only had interaction with Russell, who informed his Daddy of what I said, so when I was off picking green beens in the garden he finished burying her, thinking I didn’t want to be there.

Samantha Ezmerelda turned twelve the end of April 2004. She came to me in 1992, a tiny feisty kitten, born behind a car mechanics repair shop. A friend at work told me that her man had a friend who had a shop at which there were kittens. I blundered on over there after work and they said they’d have to catch them for me to see them, they were wild.

From what I could get out of the guys they were young kittens, but mean … they’d see what they could do, and give me a call if they caught anything [they seemed rather doubtful they would].

The very next day I got a call … they had caught one. Would I come over and get it? Sure! I arrived and they showed me how mean it was. Look at all the scratches! Beware, you are taking it home and it’s a dangerous animal.

The kitten was in a big carrier for animals, they wouldn’t let me open it. Remember, dangerous creature! I saw it, little black ball of fur. Well, big tough guys were scared of it, I wasn’t, but I humoured them.

Got home, and put down the carrier in the living room (this was June, a couple of days before getting engaged with Frank, so I was still at my parents home). I opened the door of the carrier reached in, and picked up the kitten. It purred. I pulled the kitten close and looked at it, what a sweet little girl! [I look at faces to determine sex] Oh she was so nice, yes a girl, and never mean at all.

She became my secondary buddy. Bleu was in residence already, so he had first place. I wasn’t sure that I’d be able to take the kitten with me when I got married, but she ended up coming with me and Bleu to the apartment in August 1992. Samantha fit right in and grew up into a lovely petite black cat, with a little splotch of white on her throat.

Samantha and Bleu, the early years

Samantha, by the Christmas Tree, probably 1993.

The years have flown by, and my precious is gone. I am in deep dismay that she’s gone, I’ll never have her sit on my lap, lay by my side in bed–curled up close and purring. I’ll never be able to see her sleeping, and lightly pet her, and have her perk up her head and go “Prrrbt!” with such love.

My dear precious kitty, so jealous for my attention, my number one friend within a couple of years of her life with us. For a decade I was her chosen one. I was whom she slept with. It was my tummy she curled up on … particularly when I was pregnant, she loved to lay on my babies inside me. The last time that happened was when my wee one was growing, the one that miscarried in March. My precious Samantha was with me then.

Well, it’s been a year of death and sadness in this house. First Cinnamon in September, then some hens killed, then a puppy was attacked and died, M-I-L died, I had an early-miscarriage of our fourth baby, and then this past Thursday morning I found one of my Australorps dead, and later that day we found Samantha was dead.

My dear Bleu didn’t die in our home. He disappeared one day when we were out on errands and the back door wasn’t shut. We never saw him again. That was in March 2000. So the mourning for him was more like listless, Come Home we miss you, with no closure.

So now we only have one cat left from our Florida years. Princess. She’ll be 12 in November. Everyone else is much younger. Princess was a wild cat, and we and apartment neighbors caught her in March 1993. She was a youngster, not a little kitten, but still not much grown, and she was a spicy addition to our little home. She calmed down eventually, and ended up a big fat cat. She’s slimmed down the past year, as we switched to raw feeding. She’s svelt and lightweight now.

But petite Samantha is not with us. She doesn’t come running for feeding time anymore. She was getting old the last few months, it was something that nothing could stop. God called her away.

What happens to our pets? They die, they have no spirits. There personalities are what? It’s the most perplexing question of life I have. They are so unique and special, but that’s only a temporal thing. It’s a very challenging quagmire for me.

Here are some more photos of Samantha (last pics added Aug 17, 2004 2:45 pm EST, more to come):